The Zephyr and the Rain
by Unfortunate Mistress
Summary: Ulquiorra and Orihime's bond stretches far into the past. Their relationship in the feudal era, their bond in the present, and what is to become of them in the near future?


**My first fanfiction, I guess. Hope you enjoy.  
Reviews are always appreciated.**

* * *

"a shooting star --  
in love with someone, not knowing  
where it will lead me"

-Mayuzumi Madoka

**Chapter 1  
A Recollection**

Shafts of muted gold exposed miniscule dust motes freewheeling in the air.

Splurges of dusk splattered across the floor, framed by the outline of a barred window.

Everything was deathly still.

A piercing creak of a door and the subsequent tap-tap of footsteps fractured the heavy silence.

A lone espada leisurely made his way across the room, inspecting the archives that lined the walls. Unexpressive green eyes scanned the worn book binds. He picked out a volume and trailed a finger across the leather cover.

The air was heavy with mildew.

The scent was vaguely comforting; so was the feel of the leather-bound book perched on his palm.

The library, or a room that resembled one at least, served as his sanctuary. The other arrancars shunned tasks that involved any sort of reading or recording; sifting through archives occupied the bottom rung of their to-do list for that matter. Hence he had the place all to himself. The room however run-down had its charms. One of which was that it didn't appeal to certain _particularly _disagreeable espadas… like that trash, Grimmjaw Jaegerjacques.

He returned to his book.

He let his mind wander.

"_I don't want to eat." _

Ulquiorra Schiffer grimaced. A captive resisting food wasn't an altogether foreign concept, but the way she said it prevented him from shoving the food down her throat.

"That _onna…_"

Her behavior irked him not necessarily because she proved to be more stubborn than he had expected, she reminded him of someone.

Someone he tried hard to forget.

He snapped the book shut.

* * *

_Japan, Azuchi-Momoyama Era, 1567_

"…so when you meet Hidetada-sama, you must appear extremely grateful. Grovel if you must."

The senior scribe cautioned for what seemed like the twentieth time. His face was etched with concern.

"_Hai," _answered the newcomer for the twentieth time.

The two were climbing the steps toward the main entrance of the Hidetada estate. Like any other dominant faction within Japan, the Hidetadas boasted military prowess and inconceivable wealth, which became evident the moment the pair entered the estate.

Servants scurried across the front lawn, laden with foreign merchandise. The house itself was grandiose with elaborate designs gracing its pillars and walls. Fragrant pines bordered the walkway.

A swallow warbled from afar.

Everybody, the Hidetadas and their servants alike, were well-dressed.

A handful of men and women hurried over upon noticing the senior scribe and the boy. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd. After moments of hesitation, a man well over his forties with graying hair ventured to ask the scribe on behalf of the group.

"Is this the boy? But isn't he a bit too young, Toyotama-san?" he whispered.

"That is none of your concern, Hideki. The boy is qualified. He turned eighteen this summer if that's what you are concerned about. Anyhow, the academy has never failed to produce talented scribes. You are from the academy yourself. You should know better than to ask."

Hideki shrugged. Toyotama wasn't a man to argue with. His old age had hardened his mean streak rather than soften it.

The Hidetadas were in need of a replacement after their eldest scribe decided to retire.

His health had been deteriorating, and the past winter he had finally relented to Fujiwara Hidetada's request to resign. Some said that he was half-paralyzed by the time he left the estate. Others asserted, with a snicker, that he was caught swallowing bottles of ink in the storage room.

Toyotama and the boy were ushered in to a common room situated at the heart of the estate. There seated was Fujiwara Hidetada himself accompanied by his mistress, sons, and a daughter whose sickly appearance stuck out from the rest like a prominent stain.

The newcomer stared at the daughter—her skin cast a pallid glow, strands of orange hair hung lank at her sides, and her eyes took on the softness of a doe's.

She was staring at some point above his head.

He snapped his attention away from her when the man before him cleared his throat.

"Welcome to my estate," said Fujiwara Hidetada.

Urukiora Tatsuya."


End file.
